


Just Add Glitter

by mokuyoubi, PinkGlitterMasturbation



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Cum Marking, Dom Hannibal, Drinking, First Time, Frottage, Glitter, M/M, Marking, Murder Husbands, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Hannibal, Post-Finale, Recreational Drug Use, Sassy Will, and is being led around by his dick by, indulgent Will, who doesn't realise yet he's actually a sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 05:16:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5730817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkGlitterMasturbation/pseuds/PinkGlitterMasturbation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will decides to take Hannibal telling him he needs to relax to heart, and goes clubbing, mostly to get under Hannibal's skin. And to his satisfaction, Hannibal is displeased when Will stumbles home drunk in the middle of the night. </p><p>The tags sort of say it all. Kinky porn, and not a whole lot else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Add Glitter

**Author's Note:**

> for [but-the-kid-is-not-my-son](http://but-the-kid-is-not-my-son.tumblr.com/)'s prompt where "Will was more social and enjoyed going to clubs to dance and get drunk, so if you wanted to write something like that, post 3.13 where after Hannibal teaches Will to dance properly, Will in turn convinces him to go clubbing and... maybe we get a really uncomfortable/awkward Hannibal and Will dragging him all through the city trying to get him to have fun and let loose"
> 
> Er...this is only sort of that fic. If you squint, and ignore the majority of it. I TRIED, but then kink happened? *hands*
> 
> Thanks to my sister for getting me started on this one and helping me get in the right head space!

Honestly, Will blamed his newfound clubbing habit on Hannibal. Hadn’t Hannibal been the one to tell Will that he would be much more comfortable if he relaxed with himself? And hadn’t Hannibal been the one to make arrangements for their current lodgings in this overly trendy town in the south of France, where the only place to buy something other than wine and after dinner cordials also happened to supply ecstasy and dub-step?

True, Hannibal’s reasoning was that the whole city was a garishly gauche travesty that no one would imagine him voluntarily stepping foot in, but Will just wanted a drink that didn’t also happen to be on the list of Hannibal’s approved marinades. He was starting to go stir-crazy from weeks of laying low. It was ironic that when staying at home and doing nothing was most advisable, Will suddenly wanted to go out. Even if it was to a club filled with twenty-somethings, loud music, and flashing lights. 

Hannibal had given him a surprised and tolerantly condescending smile when Will announced his intention to go into town for the evening. “For you, the thoughts and memories of one dead person are deafening in your mind. What do you image will happen in the din of a hundred or so live bodies, literally screaming?”

“Are you not coming, then?” Will side-stepped the question. He wasn’t that man anymore. Maybe if he told himself that enough, he’d start to believe it, and then it would become reality. A self-fulfilling prophecy.

“If it's drinks and dancing you desire, there are plenty of venues close at hand,” Hannibal said. “I would be pleased to teach you some basic steps. I have no doubt you’d pick it up quite quickly.”

Will gave him a derisive look, and snorted. “I think you’re missing the point, Hannibal.”

In the end, Will went alone, and Hannibal returned to his sketch of a local church currently undergoing renovation. It would be another club within the year, but they would be long gone by then. 

*

It was sometime after three in the morning when the taxi deposited Will at home. The lights were out in the flat when Will slipped inside. He moved through the dark, not yet quite familiar with the lay of the land, and was in the process of tripping over the leg of a coffee table when a soft light encircled him. Hannibal was sitting in his wing-backed chair, legs crossed, one hand on the lamp switch, one hand tapping out an angry rhythm on the burgundy leather.

“Are you impaired, Will?” Hannibal’s voice was softer than the dim light, and his eyes followed the deep shadows made by Will’s half-open shirt. His head cocked to the side, the line of his mouth pressed thin. “Are you covered in glitter?”

Taunting Hannibal was a sport best practiced on the opposite side of foot-thick bulletproof glass, but Will had never been a terribly cautious person. With a shimmy of his hips, he sent a shower of glitter drifting through the air, just for good measure. “Yes.” His grin was lubricated by several shots of tequila and possibly a light dose of ghb.

“Apparently,” Will drawled, adopting the tone and mannerisms of the green-haired girl whose words he now repeated. He ran his fingers along the back of the sofa and shifted his weight back and forth from one hip to the other, faux-shyness and flirtation. “I’m a ‘pretty boy and should always shine.’” 

At least that’s what she’d told him before upending the glitter over his head on the dancefloor. That he’d only been crossing it in the first place to reach the bathrooms was an unnecessary detail, considering the main point of this whole excursion. That being, getting under Hannibal’s skin.

“And the top four buttons on your shirt?” Hannibal asked in a deceptively clinical tone. He might as easily have been making notes in his office. 

Will glanced down, tracing his breastbone as if he had forgotten it was exposed. “Oh, well, apparently I was overdressed for the evening’s events.” He flicked his gaze upward, mouth parted, tongue pressed to the back of his teeth, and arched a brow.

A vein in Hannibal’s temple ticked. “Are you attempting to get a rise from me?”

Will laughed out loud at that. He crossed the room, putting one foot in front of the other in a careful, overly precise stride, and came to a stop with bare inches between Hannibal’s legs and his own. Bracing his hands on the arms of the chair, he leaned in close. 

Hannibal had been drinking as well, Will could smell it on his breath. It smelled like something aged in an ancient, mouldering cellar. He glanced down at Hannibal’s lap pointedly and looked back up at him, “ _Am_ I getting a rise from you?” he asked.

As quick as a snake, Hannibal struck, hands closing painfully around Will’s wrists. They struggled for a moment before Will jerked his arms loose. Hannibal stood, sending Will stumbling backwards. He didn’t get very far before Hannibal wrapped both arms around him, tugging him close and tight.

“It is unwise to provoke me.”

Will paused in his half-hearted attempt to free himself and looked up at Hannibal from under his lashes, coy. “I know.”

A rush of anticipatory adrenaline surged through Will as realisation washed over Hannibal’s face; a sort of nauseous relish at winning one of their little games. It spread through his veins like ice water. His stomach dropped somewhere around his toes while his heart leapt into his throat, waiting for Hannibal’s response. He didn’t have to wait long.

Hannibal took Will in, eyes narrowed in speculation. The air around them seemed to crackle with the potential for violence, and something else, equally carnal. It was difficult for Will to say which would win out in the end. Then Hannibal released him and took a single step back. 

A single finger drew down the open line of Will’s shirt, tucked into the fabric, not quite touching skin, until it came to rest at the first of the remaining three buttons. Will watched Hannibal work the button free nimbly one-handed, then the next, and the last, then Hannibal flipped the two halves open wide.

“Little point in a thing, when the function it serves has been rendered useless.”

Will rolled his shoulders, helping the fabric loose as Hannibal pushed it up and over. “Are we still talking about my shirt, Hannibal?” he asked, as it fell to the floor.

Hannibal didn’t respond. He worked open the buckle of Will’s belt and unfastened his pants, dragging the zipper down over Will’s aching dick. He’d been aroused since before he left the club, constructing little scenarios of what might happen once he got home, and now he was rock hard. 

Will stepped free of his pants and boxers when Hannibal eased them down over his ass. Hannibal pulled the belt free of its loops before dropping the rest to the ground. He wrapped the ends around his hands. “On your knees.”

Amused, on top of stupidly turned on, Will licked his lips and watched Hannibal track the movement. “Kiss me, first.”

Hannibal swayed towards him, almost as if he had no control over his own movements, but steadied himself before giving in to Will’s demand. Snapping the belt between his fists, he said again, “On your knees.”

Will met his gaze, steely and unfathomable to anyone but himself. There was an almost paralysing desire there, and fear--of being denied what it was he longed for, or worse, being given it. Will knew he could push, and Hannibal would relent, but Will didn’t _want_ him to. Without breaking eye contact, Will dropped to the floor, ignoring the jarring pain in his knees.

Hannibal crouched before him and wrapped the belt around Will’s neck, lacing the end through the buckle, but leaving it unfastened. When he stood it pulled tighter, not yet enough to choke, but for Will to feel it rest securely against his pulse. This was not how Will had imagined their first encounter, but if the throbbing of his cock was anything to go by, he had no regrets.

“Now,” Hannibal said, approbation in the curl of his lips and the light behind his eyes. “Open my pants and take out my cock.”

Taken aback at hearing that word pass Hannibal’s lips, Will obeyed at once. His fingers fumbled, numb and useless, all but tearing the button off in his haste. Hot lust sparked in his gut, feeling the proof of Hannibal’s desire pressing insistently against his hand as he worked. 

The first touch of Hannibal’s cock was shockingly exciting. It shouldn’t have been; despite being uncircumcised, there was little difference between touching Hannibal’s cock and his own. But somehow, the feel of silky skin hot and tight against his palm had Will’s heart beating a wild tattoo in his chest.

“Clasp your hands behind your back, Will.” Hannibal waited until Will did as he was told, and then gave a little tug on the belt. “Now take me in your mouth.”

There were lines Will had yet to cross in his own mind. Decisions that he hadn’t been ready to make, even in the safety of his own thoughts. Now, Hannibal made that decision for him, pulling Will closer by the belt and rocking his hips forward, nudging the head of his cock against Will’s mouth. 

Will was slow to acquiesce, not out of any hesitance, but with a measure of sass. Seeing it, Hannibal pulled tighter on the belt, until the leather bit into skin. Will parted his lips, smirking even as Hannibal thrust roughly between them. Hannibal’s impatience was Will’s victory.

Hannibal was thick and solid on Will’s tongue, stretching his mouth wide. He was given no real chance to grow accustomed to the size and length of him--it was either be choked by the belt or on Hannibal’s dick. He couldn’t even draw a full breath, and he might have panicked, but chose instead to surrender to it, and put himself in Hannibal’s hands. Hannibal knew him so well, knew what Will could take, and demanded it of him with each sharp snap of his hips. 

His cock dragged along the roof of Will’s mouth and the back of his throat, and rather than gagging, Will let his jaw relax and moaned around his mouthful. He was rewarded when Hannibal let out a harsh breath, rhythm momentarily disrupted. 

Heedless of the drool leaking from the corners of his mouth, or what he must look like, Will redoubled his efforts. He tightened his lips around Hannibal’s cock and sucked for all he was worth, bobbing up and down the length of him. Burying his nose against the silk of his boxers on each downward thrust, lipping at foreskin, tongue swirling around the head of his cock every time he drew back. 

Hannibal’s taste was bright and crisp, and vaguely salty, making Will think of being outdoors in the summertime; it was a surprisingly addictive flavour. Will could already imagine doing this again and again, holding back Hannibal’s foreskin and lapping away the weeping precum, feeling Hannibal’s thighs tremble beneath him at the overwhelming pleasure. Will’s hips rocked, cock bobbing, desperate and useless in the air.

With a sudden, sharp snap of leather, the belt cut tight into Will’s windpipe and Hannibal withdrew from his mouth. He was coming in hot spurts over Will’s lips and beard. Will felt it land heavy in his hair, down his neck and across his shoulders, marking him. 

Will blinked his eyes to look up and see the expression on Hannibal’s face: that hard-edged satisfaction had given way to an almost disbelieving rush of rapture, and open, hopeless adoration. It was like basking in the sunlight, Hannibal’s love and pleasure a warm caress against Will’s cheek. 

His vision was going fuzzy white around the edges, black spots sparking before his eyes like the glitter in the air, when Hannibal hooked his finger between skin and leather and loosened it. Will fell forward, bracing his hands on Hannibal’s hips, and gulped the air greedily.

Hannibal was crouched before him again, and this time he sank his hand in Will’s hair and crushed their mouths together, his kiss hungry and ardent. Will grabbed his shoulders, fabric bunching under his hands, and hauled him closer, as close as he could. He opened his mouth wide to the onslaught, as welcoming of Hannibal’s questing tongue as his cock, sucked it gently between his teeth. His chest thrilled at Hannibal’s moan that earned him.

They swayed and overbalanced, Will tipping Hannibal to the side and straddling one leg. He shoved his hips down and back, riding Hannibal’s thigh. Hannibal grabbed his ass with both hands, fingers digging in and urging Will on, harder and faster. 

“Oh, fuck,” Will groaned, voice wrecked by Hannibal’s cock and his own pleasure. He thrust his hips forward over and over, driving against the join of Hannibal’s hip and thigh, alongside the fabric of his boxers and the satiny slide of Hannibal’s softening cock. “Fuck, Hannibal, I’m so fucking close.”

Hannibal grunted against the corner of his mouth; he snapped at Will’s cheek, biting down hard over his scar, bringing back the familiar ache. It was likely only his imagination, but Will could taste blood on his tongue. He gritted his teeth and came, spilling himself all over Hannibal’s expensive suit and collapsing against him, smearing it in.

They lay there panting, Hannibal’s hand petting up Will’s spine and coming to rest against the nape of his neck, possessive. Will bit his lip against the purely delighted smile that threatened to break on his face. “You know,” he said, keeping his tone light and conversational, “I’m not opposed to your method of marking me, but you might find it more effective to simply come along next time I go clubbing.”

Hannibal’s hand tightened, nails marking fragile skin. Will pushed against his chest, rising up to loom above him, and shook free of Hannibal’s hold. And here, Hannibal thought he had any power at all that Will didn’t willingly give him. He cupped Hannibal’s cheek and smiled sweetly, before leaning in to press their lips together in a gentle kiss. Hannibal responded after a moment, echoing the tenderness of his touch.

He’d learn, in time.


End file.
